Could Be A Country Thing, City Thing, Blues Thing

 Though I still love The Verve above all else, this is one of the better Richard Ashcroft singles:

Could be a country thing, could be a blues thing, could be a city thing...you take me from the madness, the awe-inspiring sadness...

I feel bursting with writing potential, but I'm not sure how much of it can even be expressed on the page. For the sake of keeping this space alive, I will try.

Could be a city thing...anywhere. But this is a piece of Seoul.

The first visit to Seoul happened this past weekend. In some moments, it's as though I'm reliving my early college days. With far less awkwardness, thankfully. Maybe a more adult kind of awkwardness, on second thought. The booze flows, the hours melt away, the bars and clubs pound away nothing  but dance-pop, but the 노래방 (noraebang) - literally, song room for karaoke - is a nice additional touch. I'm happy to party with new people, but in these moments, I especially miss the familiarity of getting sketchy with close friends. I flash back to Boston, 2 weekends in Montreal, select Parisian and Lillois nights.

After just a month away from big city lights and fast life, I was apprehensive going in. Fortunately, I love railroad travel and Korean trains are particularly high-tech and efficient, but still passing through beautiful mountainous parts. No transport strikes to be found here, Europe! At least not in this neck of the woods, as far as I can tell. From my Greek experience with screwing up train travel in a different language - and a screwed up train system - I've made myself quite paranoid here.

Pulling out of Gangwon on the Seoul train

Anticipation and mild anxiety about the upcoming trip put me in a more stressed and jittery than normal mood during the week. Psychologically, I am doing my best to keep grounded in this small town mountain life, train my brain and body to focus and be content with relative simplicity. I need it for my health. A trip to a wild, sprawling, life-pumping city like Seoul, with a menu of choices ranging from activism to parties to Western food to live music and beyond can be overwhelming, to say the least. Indeed, as soon as I stepped off the platform on Friday night - into a rainy mess at that - I felt the mad rush. Part of city cycling and walking means avoiding the rat tunnels of the subway. Of course, subways are useful and way more planet friendly than cars and buses, but I just can't stand being down there for more than short intervals. The Korean metro is clean and smell-free, unlike Paris or New York, but being packed in with the hurried crowds, the stale air and lack of daylight nearly makes me sick. How can millions of humans around the world live like this, spend so many hours underground?

And with a short stay at your first time in a big city, you get sucked in and scattered and you lose sight of anything you actually need to get done. I enjoyed staying at Grape Garden House in Hongdae, a really chill spot by travellers for travellers, and the added surprise of getting to know two other teachers throughout the weekend. Also, the Koreans who run the hostel know the "Empty Shop," apparently a radical space in Yongsan. That was my first trek on the bright Saturday morning - I found the space to be under renovation, but it made me really want to meet more alternative folks even more. Afterwards, I passed through the Itaewon foreigner shopping bubble but failed to get a phone or books as I tried to make the protest at the Chinese embassy for North Korean refugees. (more on that below) Unfortunately, all that was left was a swarm of cops, probably also related to the resistance against the widely publicized nuclear summit , attended by Obama. I was sort of disenchanted, but I chalked it up to being a lost first-time visitor and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the evening, stretching into six in the morning.

The Routine
Two of my female students have also become my chiropractors, along with the rest of the Taekwondo team in Sabuk. I knew I had lower back problems, but I didn't realize how bad they might be until The Master decided I would hurt myself if I didn't stretch the hell out of my back all the time. He proceeded to guide the girls to crush my spine and twist my neck. This may be a blessing in disguise, the key to getting me in really good shape. Except at the last class, I'm afraid I was too tired and didn't show the most positive attitude. Sometimes it's hard to pretend to smile. What if they actually kick me out? That will be quite the embarassment, but I suppose worse things have happened.

When in France, I started out stressed about lesson planning, but really let things slide and began maintaining a careless attitude about teaching, amounting to "I'm here, I smile and laugh with my students, it's all good." As I became more and more involved with outside activities, particularly the rambling soup kitchen, I somewhat lost sight of my most important role - an English teacher to French middle schoolers. Consequently, after leaving my job, I began dreaming about my former students and missing them intensely. I knew I hadn't done enough and being a transient assistant with a contract for less than the full academic year sure didn't help.

So, this time around, I'm really trying. I'm in class on time, every time - yes, believe it or not, this was not always the case before. What the hell was I thinking? That old careless attitude surely contributed to going crazy and losing even more self-esteem in the end. I work to get to know my Korean students. Besides having similar names and features and interests mainly consisting of K-pop, gaming and sports, this is a lovely bunch of high schoolers, extremely overworked, sleep-deprived and some with family alcoholism and abuse. (This is Kangwon Land town, after all. A few months ago, the students found a gambler Saturday morning who had hanged himself in front of their school the night before). I am slowly falling in love with them.

Lightness and Weight

Lightness vs. weight is a life theme, something that has only struck me over time since reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, leading me to reread the novel. The contrast could be reflected in the city vs. the countryside, productivity vs.  playfulness, staying in one place vs. staying on the road, among many things. Particularly for constant travellers, it really strikes a chord. Right now, I'm thinking about it in terms of rising up vs. living peacefully.

I stumbled on some good bits in the book, which takes place in Prague, small town Czechoslovakia, Geneva and Zurich during and immediately following the 1968 Prague Spring, crushed by Russian tanks. Sabine, a Czech expat artist in Switzerland, feels uncomfortable around some fellow Czech expats, French friends and a Swiss lover because of their romanticizing oppression and the need for revolution. When Kundera describes Sabine's lover's infatuation with European street demonstrations, I have to laugh in recognition. "And so as long as he lived in Paris, he took part in every possible demonstration. How nice it was to celebrate something, demand something, protest against something ; to be out in the open, to be with others."

As described in an older entry, I arrived in France in the fall of 2010, at the height of the popular uprising against the reforme des retraites, Sarkozy's retirement reform laws. Of course, it was marvelous to be having lunch in the middle of Lille on a general strike day and watching the procession march through the streets. It made me feel alive, excited to be part of this new community and the way in which protests connect people and become social events. Lille, a particularly strong worker and activist stronghold, has no shortage of them and I spent a good many afternoons alongside teachers and anarchists protesting the retirement reforms, nuclear energy, cyclist deaths, etc. In fact, crazy as I was, I genuinely made myself feel guilty if I missed a protest.

Indeed, throughout many European cities, millions of folks love nothing more than a good street demo, despite the millions of others who wish the metro and buses weren't shut down again and they didn't have to walk to work. I do and probably always will support popular uprisings and their potential to bring dialogue, performance art and radicalism into the streets. However, after a few years of participation and witnessing - let's be honest, as more of a tourist as anything because these were mostly not my struggles - I'm getting quickly fed up with the protest as simple spectacle. After catching a brief and embarassingly useless glimpse at the Calais front lines, I've slowly come to realize that real solidarity and on-the-ground activism is possible and exists. But most people, understandably, just can't do it. It's too painful to come face-to-face with state violence, to push up against the hard brick wall that is fighting for a better world. At what point can you balance activism with a healthy life without going over the edge?

Two of the biggest current struggles on the Korean scene are the latest round of China's repatriation of North Korean refugees and the emerging U.S. naval base on Jeju. Of course, being in Seoul would put me in the middle of the resistance action, but I don't really want to be there. If I was, I know I would get sucked in somehow and continue chipping away at my stability. I will have to be content with support from a distance and occasional trips to the center. Lightness. Weight.

So to keep it real, I slowly read Ursula Le Guin's anarcha-feminist translation of The Tao (given to me by a dear Houston friend) and I try to comfort in passages such as:

"The return to the root 
is peace.
Peace: to accept what must be, 
to know what endures.
In that knowledge is wisdom.
Without it, ruin, disorder."

Could Be A Country Thing
In most places I've been, the countryside is dying. Dying economically and culturally and few people seem to want to revive it. This pains me, because as someone who has only recently discovered my profound discontent with city existence, prompting my need to even escape the summer 2011 Greek uprising, as partially described here.

Basically, I am constantly torn between a need for nature and a need for action. Why can't live music, community gardens, long bike rides, experimental art, alternative spaces and the like also happen outside of the city walls, on a larger scale? When I'm in the mountains, it's like an endless expanse and the city is like a closed snowglobe. Yet, the snowglobe pulsates with familiar life and possibilities. I imagine this inner conflict will never quite be resolved, but maybe someday the balance can be achieved.

 

Peace Is The Biggest Adventure

The Han River, in Jeongseon

I finished The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle last week. I was left with a lot of questions, but mostly a desire to read more Murakami and more strange fiction. A very dystopic view of modern Japan, but fascinating nonetheless. I was excited to get back into The Unbearable Lightness of Being, but now that I've started, it doesn't feel as good as rereading Kokoro, and it doesn't give me the same insight as I had years after the first read. The plot is not quite as an engaging as I remembered. Maybe lightness vs. weight is better as a life concept than as part of a story, or maybe somebody has done it better than Kundera. Or maybe still, I am growing tired of European fiction and becoming more interested in Asian authors. I'm a fan of the last conclusion.

Still Not Missing The City
Three excursions have gone down since I last wrote. Last Saturday, a bunch of us new teachers got a great deal on ski and snowboard equipment from a Korean acquaintance and spent the afternoon on the slopes at High 1 Resort. It was a warm sunny day and I had a more positive attitude on skis, despite fear and silly falls. I didn't get any photos in the snow 'cause I was afraid for my camera, but next winter will be here before we know it so I'll have plenty of opportunities to do it all again and better. I definitely want to try snowboarding as well, since so many people are experts here. Never thought I would be a winter sports enthusiast, but since we're in a prime location, might as well take advantage of it.

On Thursday, three of us finally made it to and from Jeongamsa Temple, by virtue of an English-speaking Korean gambler taking a taxi to a random sauna by the temple. We didn't stay long and didn't get all the way to the beautiful top of the hill because the paths have accumulated so much mud from rain mixed with melting snow.

I can't wait until blooming springtime to go up there again. It's a peaceful place, with monks and gong-banging and strange little Buddha figurines. I want to be even more peaceful next time, really experience the quiet and not just be one of the awkward tourists. My stupid camera always gives me away and I sometimes lack the courage to go places on my own, though I do quite a bit of that. On the way back, the bus was taking its sweet time so we decided to thumb down a car that turned out to be full of young Korean guys who squeezed us in - first random hitching in Korea, about 10 minutes ride.

This past weekend, I opted out of St. Patty's Day in Seoul and stayed in these parts. Despite the pervasive rain, exploring Jeongseon and getting to know people was a really chill time. It's nice to meet other EPIKers who are into nature, being active, good home-cooked food and learning Korean. Drinking still happens though.

Jeongseon 5-day Market

The coming weekend will see my first ever visit to Seoul. I am proud of myself for staying away from the distractions for so long and am now getting excited for what this enormous Asian metropolis has in store. I expect to be enveloped by this great city, yet feel ever more grateful for the return to the beloved mountains. I imagine a labyrinth of underground clubs, big public parks, hilltops and huge department and food stores.

Work, Work, Work
Next week, I will begin my new work hours, which will add a lot more teaching time to my week. I'm glad that I've already begun adapting to a good personal schedule, already getting to school by 8 a.m. and getting to bed by 11 p.m. I'm slowly falling in love with my students' presence, their laughter and bright personalities despite what must be their extreme fatigue. Things will probably change a lot next week and I hope to be even more productive, though more tired.

You Know It's True
This week, my head was buzzing with good vibes and I couldn't figure out why. I don't take this state of mind lightly because as most people will agree, I'm a person full of negativity and criticism about half the time. This is because I often feel threatened by many forces around me. My family is broken up, I'm constantly moving to new places where I have to explain myself to new people, dominant culture is oppressive to women, sensitive souls and dreamers.

Suddenly, I find myself in a place where none of this seems threatening. The liberation is mental and physical. I walk down the streets of my town, I go to school, I go out and I come home. No one gets angry at or belittles me or those I love. I have nothing to prove to anyone. And as much as I miss being around artists, activists, cyclists and concerts, I don't miss the undue stress I put on myself at all these times in the past few years. Maybe someday I can do what I love and remain comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes peace is the biggest adventure.

A wall representing the train line, Jeongseon

Pancakes at the market

Ubiquitous soybean and chili pots

The Wind-Up 'Girl' Chronicle?

My new home

I'm about to finish Murakami's 600-pager. It feels good to have the time and focus to read fiction again, especially epic fiction with crazy twists and turns. For a while, I was reading mostly political texts, if anything at all. Novels help to calm my fire, especially when traveling or relocating to a new place. Next, I'm going to reread the $3 ancient copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being  that I found in a San Francisco used bookstore. It's true, I don't know when I will be able to lovingly rummage through one of those again.

Oh, that's right. I'm actually living in Korea! On Monday, February 27, tension and anxiety building, Gangwon-do-ers got our final town placements. Or rather, county placements. We unceremoniously shoved our luggage onto the buses once again and finally, we were off to our new lives out of the big city. I was so exhausted from the crazy week we had just endured, I mostly slept through the ride. In Yeongwol, we were met by our coteachers and whisked off to wherever it is we were going. In my case, a general teacher's conference all in Korean. Oh and a teacher introduction ceremony where you bow in front of everyone? That's cool, when you're in a daze.

The Teacher Goes To School

It's the beginning of March, so starts a new Korean school year which will run until the end of July. Little did I know, I would be teaching in a high school with only 150 students and 22 teachers. Not only that, but high school essay writing. Never heard of anyone doing this, so I treat myself as the guinea pig and roll with it. So far, I'm only scheduled for eight classes a week, which is technically supposed to expand to twenty-two hours. I'm spoiled with my very own classroom and office.

Classroom "Africa" 

My coteachers are lovely people, but since I only have a computer in the classroom, I don't get to see the other staff much. The infamous teacher's dinner went down on Monday night, with an entire restaurant taken up with tables. I ended up mostly babbling away in the English corner, slightly tipsy on soju, but nothing too eventful or embarrassing. Going out for food is always going to be an adventure in "what can I eat this time?" Oh there's plenty of tofu, yay! Oh, there's only rice and seaweed? Wish I had pre-eaten more. But, I like the food so I can't complain too much.

Thanks for the side dishes, 'cause the rest is BBQ

Where The Clean Air Comes From

Sabuk is the name of this small town. This isn't exactly what I would call the boonies, but we are nestled in the mountains, with amazing fresh air.  Just what I wanted in my landscape, but I didn't realize it would kind of come at cost. Not to me, but to the town itself. In the 1930s, this was a coal mining community that made the sky black. Eventually, they shut down the coal mines and Sabuk suffered massive unemployment. Now, this stands at the entrance to the town:

Welcome to Sabuk!

Kangwon Land Casino apparently creates a "healthy gambling culture" by giving people jobs and letting them gamble away their already meager life savings. The only casino open to Koreans! I haven't been inside the place itself, but I've heard horror stories. Maybe I'm cynical and should stop thinking about it, but coal for casino doesn't seem like an awesome trade to me, no matter how nice the air. Of course, coal is still heavily used here for heating, though maybe to a lesser degree now. I'm sure I will find out more about this somewhat sordid history as time goes on.



I'll Take a Quiet Life...

A series of firsts has begun in just a few short weeks: first time on the Asian continent, first time teaching high school, first time living in a rural area and first time living alone. These are not insignificant milestones, especially the last two. I needed to get out of the city so much, I dreamed about it. And no matter how lonely it gets here, the mountains and rivers and railroads will keep me company even in the lowest times. Spring is approaching and we had two really beautiful days that lifted up everyone's spirits. At lunchtime, I choose to go home and sit and listen to the stream under my window. 

View from my balcony, on a nice day

I make schedules, set goals, get enough sleep during the week and cook good food. Of course, this is the only the beginning and life could become more hectic, but that would be my own choice. I'm not a Korean teacher, so I don't work more than 40 hours a week. I'm not a Korean student who spends 14 hours a day in school, with self-study sessions going until 10 p.m. I have friends from orientation in neighboring towns that I can visit anytime and it's nowhere near the hurdle it was in Houston. And maybe best of all, I see my students everyday around town. They wave and say hi. They offer me snacks. Sometimes groups of teenage boys follow me and say weird things in English. Teenage boys are a frightening bunch - they're bigger than me! I'll start taking Taekwan-do soon to work off the nervous energy and keep myself more in shape. I've also got gardening in the works and soon soon soon I will get a bike! I can make life as familiar as I want it, even in this unknown territory. I feel extremely fortunate and mostly that I don't deserve what I'm getting for the little work that I do. Privilege. Class. Inequality. What can I do? It's still a beautiful experience. 

I Want More, Impossible To Ignore

I still want to volunteer on a farm. And travel around. And meet activists. But right now, the right thing may be to find out who I am, without all the frills and confusion. Finally, a year in Korea may give me this gift. 

A walk home in the falling snow

Inexplicably awesome mural by the school

From a bridge in Gohan

Second Impressions, In Which Teachers Go To Boot Camp

EPIK group at  farm village

Not an update related to women or privilege or travel as promised - Korea has overwhelmed me. This is a late mid- orientation update, as I've already started life in my new town. More to come.

Program Orientation

More like mental boot camp. Most people, at least from the States, arrived the night of Monday the 20th, were met at Incheon airport by EPIK staff, then promptly bussed to the Daejeon orientation site, some kind of training center for KT (not quite sure what that is, still. Phones?) We couldn't eat or drink anything until late the next morning, as we had the medical check-up first thing upon getting up. Everyone passed, which is apparently rare. Yay for not getting deported!

 

The morning walk to orientation classes

EPIK Dormitory, Daejon KT Campus

Our class schedule was basically 9 - 9 each for nearly a week straight and the curfew was 10:30, limiting the party time. One day, we went to the Chansaem Farm Village, an hour drive from Daejeon.

Tofu grinder at farm village

Not a real farm. Not a real village. Usually a place for Korean city kids to come see a piece of "rural" Korea, in about 500 such businesses around the country, according to an EPIK staff member. Why did I expect something different? (I suppose Peliti serves a similar purpose sometimes and Paranesti the town can be very money-minded, but at least they try to be a part of the community.) Oh, well, EPIK teachers still got our kicks.

EPIK vs. TAPIF

Drying dyed scarves, farm village

School hasn't started yet, but as far as I can tell, the public school English Program in Korea goes above and beyond the Teaching Assistant Program in France, in terms of quality teacher preparation, support and work experience. This orientation could never happen with the French program because there simply wouldn't be enough veteran teachers to teach classes and advice us on the road ahead. No one stays as a native teacher in the public schools for more than two years. So, I gave up a lot by turning down the renewal in France, but I certainly didn't give up anything like a fixed yet relaxed 8:30-4:30 schedule, a top-notch week-long orientation and a comfortable salary with free housing. This job won't kill me, but it will certainly whip me into shape. Native English teachers are still at the bottom of this rigid educational ladder, but at least Korea appears to give a damn. Renewing contracts get higher priority and there is no limit. Plus, with a bachelor's degree and  three years of experience, you get access to university positions. 

"Blood" dye for scarves

None of this scrambling for an ever-elusive position as a lecteur/lectrice, with a potentially killer workload. I'm not purposely hating on the French system, but this comparison really strikes me. Of course, the cushiness of the job could easily be overshadowed by my lack of Korean language and culture understanding, making life more difficult, but that's another part of the story.

Language 
I don't speak Korean. And most people either can't or are too scared to speak English. That's the biggest difference between here and France or the States, the biggest barrier to getting to know people. Sign language, inferring and asking an infinite amount of questions of Koreans who can translate become a necessity. Many teachers, even after several years of living here, can barely scratch the language surface. That's not meant to be a putdown, even coming from myself, who tends to absorb new languages like a sponge. This isn't French or Spanish or even Greek. This is a scientific, phonetic alphabet, an entirely different tonal system and sounds that don't directly translate to European languages. But I'm committed to studying and improving, with lowered expectations.

Frying soybean pancakes at farm village

Society

Korea is the most technologically advanced, mechanized and regimented place I've ever been. Everything is by the book and done in the most efficient way possible, it's kind of frightening. Modern life is at full force, with cities looking pretty much like the West, only with colorful Hangeul characters. On the plane, I watched the movie Punch, which touched on the education system but more importantly, migrants' issues. I have yet to encounter any of this in real life. What strikes me is Koreans are extremely friendly and have a good sense of humor when introduced, but on the surface they remain reserved, perhaps mistrustful of the unknown. In general, we received a warm and hospitable welcome to the country. 

Leaving Daejeon

Socializing
Introverts usually don't have it easy. Radicals and vegetarians never do. I'm keeping pieces of myself under wraps and working to make friends. Sometimes it's successful:

Daejeon, traditional restaurant, outside KT campus

Traditional restaurant

Sometimes I just want to sit in my room, write and listen to music because there's no one I can really talk to. I knew this and did my best to accept it when leaving Houston. From now on, not only do I need to push myself to be outgoing, but also with people who probably don't share many of my values or interests. A growing experience indeed.

European Homesickness 

Ten months is a short time to stay in a place, hardly enough to put down roots or unlock many secrets. Leaving that life for eight months should be enough to put it behind you, squarely in a past chapter. Maybe for someone else. I see, hear, taste, touch and smell flashes from those ten months as though I could step out the door and live them right now. As though time and seas and land and artificial borders don't separate them from me. Mixed in are moments as far back as four years ago, most of which haven't surfaced this vividly until now, but they all seem to come together as one. I miss France. I never truly fell in love with Paris in 2008, not the way I did with Lille in 2010-2011. But I miss long solitary walks along the Canal St. Martin, all the way past Gare de Lyon to the Cinematheque and Bibliotheque at Parc de Bercy. I miss finding tiny cinemas you never knew existed, in every nook and cranny of the city. I miss boulangeries on every corner. The demonstrations at Republique. The Parc des Buttes Chaumont. 

I miss Lille. I miss the near-daily bike rides between Fives and the main part of the city. I miss our impossibly tall four-floor house, all to ourselves. I miss our magic garden, with the leaves of the two big trees telling the four-seasons story. I miss sunny market Sundays, with the whole city out and on the terraces. I miss dumpstering produce from the end of the market during the week, reducing it to liquid form, filling bottles and rambling down the streets with French buddies to give the soup away in cups to the homeless. I miss Carnaval carousing. I miss long bike rides to Bruges and Paris with some of the best people I've ever met. 

I miss travelling to Greece, Spain and Morocco - warm sea climates with warm people. I miss discovering the hilltops of Athens. I miss dancing the night away on New Year's in Vigo. I miss the Moroccan CouchSurfers and the mounds of couscous. I miss three weeks in the Rhodope Mountains, weeding in the heat, being followed by a stray dog, an old woman on our porch, fresh homecooked meals and treks through the wild woods along the river. I miss city activism in Sofia, Thessaloniki and back in Lille. 

Looking at the old pictures makes me ache. If at least a tiny part can be put into written words, if it can be permanently recorded, it will help to live today, tomorrow and for the rest of the journey.